What's Eating Kaede Rukawa?
by Foul Fountain of Flies
Summary: Mitsui discovers that he could only vent his innermost thoughts to just one person, Rukawa, because the latter wouldn't blurt anything to anyone. But as it gets longer, Rukawa becomes more troubled than ever...MitRuMitKo.


What's Eating Kaede Rukawa?

By: Foul Fountain of Flies aka Night Strider

Disclaimer: No own them. Inoue sure does.

Summary: Mitsui discovers that he could only vent his innermost thoughts to just one person; Rukawa, because the latter wouldn't blurt it to anyone. But as it gets longer, Rukawa becomes more troubled than ever... MitRu-MitKo.

A/N: Title's plagiarized; its original form is 'What's Eating Gilbert Grape?' Doesn't it ring a bell?

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Chapter I

Mitsui might as well be Rukawa's first love, and only love. All our loves are our first loves, so said an obscure page in one of those literary magazines he's read while habitually gazing at a news stand somewhere in the train station's jam packed portal. He was thunder-struck at the statement; feeling as though the words that constituted it were purposed to reach his eyes by any means of coincidence and be imprinted in his faculties for good. It was bold and intruding; yet it made perfect sense with all its constellations of interpretations. Even the world's most logic based horoscope would shy away from its precision and as if corresponding to the suspense of the moment, each strand of his hair electrically stood on its end. From that time on, he learned that he was in serious dilemma. He was confronted by reality in his most insecure state and right then, it had hit his soft spot with full force. He told himself he'd let it go because whatever he felt for Mitsui, the latter didn't share any of it, nor would. But Rukawa had loved or should we say, loved too much; loved beyond his own understanding and power. Excessively and irrefragably so that the thick glass of his sensitivity was shattered and melted by some magnificent power that swept his former self from this type of oblivion to another. He tried to rebuild the dregs into a compact whole which would restore the consciousness of his impermeability, but his heart gave in as if trying to prove that it did exist. Finally, the struggle has been won over; he did have the heart to be attached and worse, to love; it was proven ultimately, because it had been broken.

It isn't that Kaede Rukawa always wanted to be alone, waiting for his ass to be stiff as an ice box without the blocks that melt inside it. No, he didn't want that; but he did love silence and wore muteness as his second skin. Yes, he could pass the day just like that, slackening in one corner with the listless look of a far off dozer. No echoes of his team mates' tittle-tattle bounce underneath his shingled skull, no pea brained cheer leaders shrieking his last name, and no Sakuragi with the widest set profanities shoved against him; this was utopia for him. Nobody told him to come up with a bathos of course, it was just an inveterate hobby that went along with his mechanical breathing; as natural as his existence and as singular as his fractured mind; and nothing or no one for that matter would dare tell him off. He was, however, sure that nobody shared the same dudgeon as his; and this quite made him what he was then. People never liked him and in return, he despised them, except of course those who had their skirts charmed off by Rukawa's good looks. He shunned the immutable law of humanity in terms of socializing and never, in his early teenage life, had he prompted himself to be attached to anyone. He was, in gamut, a sullen, die hard loner; he loved the solitary splendor of monumental silence and would vow in the name of all that he liked to remain in such lifestyle no less than forever. So it has been a rule in Kaede Rukawa's concourse life to equip himself with haughtiness, like an impregnable, galvanized steel that clouded his fragile insides. And though his temper was given to inclement irregularities, he never once failed to conceal its true nature and ever he would maintain the steadiest face with a determined coldness more than any passiveness could warrant; Rukawa as a person with any thread of feeling was a fact pushed out of knowledge and soon it would find its section in his best-kept history. But sometimes, he would assume all snort descriptions to show his opinions; naturally, he exercised minimum use of prolixity; frugality in wordy responses in other words.  
All these were about to change in a fillip; at the fall of the dice, Hisashi Mitsui came swinging into view. For a gangster who had gone through a lot, Mitsui was no rife bellicose individual. He was peerlessly beautiful, no question, but even without his looks on he appeared to Rukawa as a person easiest to love or in more exact expressions, the only one in the biosphere that was worth loving. The shock of this discovery took pains to wear off nor did it allow identification; it was so sudden that there was no chance to uncover the reason behind it. They say that when a person loves there could be no rationale, or perhaps it was just that finding a reason to love is worse than useless because to know that you have loved is in itself completeness, even without exacting its origin or cause. Rukawa's case was not the contrary; indeed he had loved Mitsui without knowing why and how. Just like the physical principles; eventual and free flowing without being stymied, his attraction matured into the clichéd greatest virtue, love. And alongside the impossibility of being loved in return, Rukawa had learned something; proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.

The story began simply enough. Rukawa had stayed behind as usual after practice; being the slug-a-bed that he was, he couldn't afford to tolerate some meters of journey for home after a long grueling session of practice. His team mates never bothered to offer their company; for one thing Rukawa would refuse it 200 on the money. He then heard something inside their locker room. He wasn't alone after all.

'Ducksoup. Four 3 pointers in one quarter? That's chicken; the bucket's not even fifty meters from the mark, dude. It's just like a, uhmm, well a seesaw. yeah, that's it.' Mitsui rambled on among a pair of inquisitive eyes. 'Don't look at me as if I just completed the 3rd miracle of my life, I'm not yet a saint alright, and I've no intention to become one.'

Oh, it was Mitsui. The trademark baritone voice was again invoking echoes from the empty gym. But wait, he seemed to be with someone. Rukawa thought.

'Yeah, but saving us from Kainan High was nothing short of a miracle. Come on, man, tell us your secret. How were you able to nail down those threes after a ton of sweat's just been squeezed out of you?' Miyagi asked, not withdrawing the stupid awed expression in his eyes. 'It's heaven-to-heaven from a seesaw game if you'd ask me.'

Mitsui sank back in incommodious quietude, seeming to consider every article found within his sight. He was leaning languidly against the gym's wall like a paraplegic prat sans support; he was bloody tired. Both his mind and body were in no mint condition to admit strength at the moment yet such rare events don't happen less than once after all. At one time, it was impossible to constrain his impatience; this time he was something apart from his usual ranting you-ask-too-many-questions self and would choose to be a nice celebrity who would entertain questions and give away tips. He had matured incalculably for the past 3 months, no question.

'Uhmm, (hell, I don't even know how a seesaw works) it's like this; forget about the seesaw, it's a simple machine and this one's sure ain't. To begin with, it's the sleight of hand that matters--'

'Yeah, as if I don't have that. My prestidigitation made me one of the highest ranking point guards in this damn prefecture, remember? Let's move over to the next chapter; what keeps you going after being soiled over? I mean, you just ran around the area like magic, hitting each and every attempt bull's eye. Somebody just needs to explain that, and share it if the circumstances require.' Miyagi urged on in a more fierce enthusiasm. He would stop at nothing till Mitsui ceased at his fumbling.

'It's your inborn inclination to win, Ryochin. I always wanted to be a winner, you know that...proclivity, they call it.' Mitsui said omnisciently.

Miyagi returned an unexpected frown. This was the cliché answer he had been wanting to avoid; 'you find it in every inspirational, utility how-to books in every corner of the world' Miyagi muttered to himself dismissively, thinking better of putting it in more explicit retorts. Finding himself lacking in white washed terms he said,

'I don't need telling, Mitchy, I know all those be-confident crap and hell knows I'm confident as heck. I'm looking for something out of this world, uhmm, a trick to pull up that kind of magic you did. What exactly have you done?' Ryota howls in a rather outmoded temper. No need to pitch away all notions of being nice; this is as far as his snappy nerves would permit.

'Boy, all you have to do is to twist your left wrist 45 degrees pointing to the west (if you're right handed) while suspending your right palm to the ball's weight and not the other way around. Do you follow? Now, slightly clutch the leather and release it while you're at the acme of your vertical leap. Your left should assume the sole purpose of supporting your grip, that's all. And oh yeah, don't forget to slump yourself along the 3 point lane, that would seal the deal.' Mitsui uttered prestissimo with equal nerves. If Miyagi was fed up, Mitsui was no better.

'I've tried that.' Miyagi answered disinterestedly.

'And?'

'It was nil.' Miyagi breathed desperately. 'I don't get it, I practice as hard as you do but-'

'It's the talent.' Butted in a voice that neither belonged to the two chatters. Flavorless Kaede Rukawa came slipping by all of a sudden. It was plain that he was ready to stow away from the campus that very second, judging by his all set, I'm-about-to-split look.

'Right on, Rukawa.' Mitsui said and shot him a you-saved-me sort of glance. Ryota's teeth were immediately set on the edge.

'Oh. Yes, of course.' Ryota mumbled inaudibly and moved on to the gym's exit pass. His face displayed a substantial amount of bitterness but what the hell; it's the talent alright. 'See you guys tomorrow then.'

Mitsui and Rukawa were left alone. The night outside was placated by the feeble winds and an inexplicable calmness was winning the moment. But the evening was young. For a while, they stood gazing impertinently at each other, as though a second of indecision held them both to cling their glare towards one path, that is, the fateful line that connected the space between them. But Mitsui broke off as their glances converged at the familiar point and smiled at Rukawa once again. And yes, he was actually smiling at Rukawa.

'Come. let's go home together.' Mitsui said in his most normal manner of invitation; pure, casual thoroughness as in matters of camaraderie. He cantered towards his varsity bag that was waiting forlornly on the courtside, and with a little tipsy effort, slung it on his numb shoulder.

Rukawa half nodded. The word 'together' rang on his ear drums like a shagged record. He knew it was just a mere adjective that could suggest one thing; it could mean nothing, yet it could mean a lot too. This was the first time somebody offered him his company and it had to be Hisashi Mitsui. Whatever effect it had engendered, Rukawa's suspicion only soared higher; what exactly was Mitsui trying to gain here? Rukawa let Mitsui lead the way as he trailed after him. As they passed through the entrance gate of Shohoku, Rukawa heard a metallic click from beside him and an orange flicker came blending with the dark hued rays of the moon. He glanced at Mitsui and was greeted by a plume of white, smog-like gas that smelled of unpleasant aroma; and it was all puffing from the senior's lips whose face was barely decipherable behind the oblique view.

'Oh, sorry. Uhm, you don't mind if I have just a couple of this, do you?' Mitsui simpered, fiddling a cigarette between his fingers. A flock of smoke scooted out of his mouth after every exhalation. It was almost pesky.

'No.' Rukawa answered in a scowl like monosyllable.

'You wanna try one?' Mitsui proffered and shoved one to Rukawa who just stared back mumly. 'Oh, you're too young. Nevermind.' He finished and hurriedly palmed the stick to his pocket. Rukawa never really knew the name nor the exact place of Mitsui's home but one thing was certain; they didn't live in the same boring neighborhood. It was in fact strange that whatever step Rukawa took, Mitsui took also. He couldn't figure that out.

And they walked in a mute procession as if going on an individual journey, traveling in normal speed without altering their paces or velocity. The night grew deeper and the rustles of the wind became more audible. At the 10th minute of striding on the nocturnal atmosphere, Mitsui's strides decelerated. Rukawa was 3 steps ahead when he noticed that Mitsui was locked on one spot. He looked back at the senior and was unexpectedly thrilled by what he saw. Mitsui was hanging his head in lethargy, like he had just been electrified while half dipped in water. Rukawa strolled closer to his team mate and discovered that Mitsui's eyes lost their brilliance whereas a while ago it was just romping there full of vivacity and truthfulness.

'Sempai?' Rukawa asked, a frightened voice wasn't intended to come out but he realized this too late.

'What's wrong, Mitsui-san?' Against tradition, Rukawa threw some words of concern. Was it really him who was saying this? He tapped Mitsui's shoulder to continue his anxious actions, yet he was all too willing to help his sempai; whatever his worth was to him.

'I'm fine, Kaede. Thanks.' Mitsui mumbles in a low tone as if afraid he'd wake anybody up at this time of the night. 'I'm just tired.' and held up his chin.

'Tired?' Rukawa asked, signally in doubt about the senior's terse reply. He couldn't extract any significant interpretation from it aside from its literal meaning; physical exhaustion. The problem was, it sounded something else more than that. Again, he was speaking as if he cared about anyone at all; maybe he was just being inquisitive and curious in effect but...

'I'm tired...' Mitsui trailed, 'of this goddamn life.' An obscure dismay was plastered on his face at the first glance but as time drew on, a look of scornful disgust was playing there as well. Somehow, both expressions mingled with another and weird as it was, none of the two seemed to play out one another. They were in a parallel balance.

'Mitsui-san, stay put.' Rukawa said, concealing his puzzlement very well. Mitsui said it; he was fed up. But of what exactly? This only increased Rukawa's restlessness.

'Rukawa, if anything happened to me. Would you be the one to explain to Kogure?' Mitsui said out of the blue. His voice was shunting, first low pitched and then ascending a note until finally dropping to a croak. Rukawa couldn't read the precise look on Mitsui's face because no strobes were on, but judging from what he had just heard, Mitsui was most probably on the verge of tears for whatever important cause. But wait, what had Kogure to do with it?

'Explain what, sempai?'

'I may be gone for a while or...forever. I don't know. I need to forget. I need to get away.' Mitsui said in broken snatches. He was trembling from the cold maybe, but even that low temperature wasn't enough to disturb one like this. He seemed to have been cached up inside a gigantic fridge and chucked out two hours later, that's how he shook; madly and perilously.

'You're going away, sempai?' Rukawa asked with obvious dread at the thought that Mitsui might be a suicidal freak. He might be only one of the innumerable cases in Japan, no big deal, but if he would go; who else would take the role of the Messiah once they were three points down in the last four seconds? Who would be there to tie the match and bring it to overtime? Who would kill their shut out? Hisashi Mitsui was the only impeccable actor for that missing part.

'I don't know.' Mitsui paused reluctantly and wrung his hands twice. An indescribable solemnity had cast its shadow on the senior in pandemic speed as it clouded around Rukawa too. 'Listen, he just broke up with me and I don't know how else am I going to put up with the upcoming games. It was because of him that I was able to retrieve my touches, my skills, and talents, even my strength needless to say. As long as he feels for me, I'll be fine. But just yesterday...he ditched me.'

That explained the glum. What am I, a shrift? huh? So that was it. Kogure dumped him and now he was looking as if a ship had just sunk before his eyes and all his loved ones were snagged away with it. Rukawa tries to rewind earlier's scenes; Kogure was looking unsmirched as usual...he was even okay at the team's practice, and everything was feel-free-to-be-glad for him. If this kind of menacing disaster just occurred; why is the bastard so opaque about it? And why is Mitsui in this inconsiderable condition? Kogure might just be playing along with the rhythm and if that's so; he's a very good actor. And Mitsui, he's such a soft boiled losel to mourn this over. Rukawa mused mercilessly.

'Sempai, it'll be fine.' Rukawa belched out, defying all logical consciousness of his true nature. Had there been other words to put it, he wouldn't trust any term as lame as these. That's for sure.

'Can't say that can be the case someday. Oh, Kaede...' Mitsui roared hoarsely. Rukawa almost jumped at being addressed so informally. In fact, it was almost once in a blue moon only that he could hear someone call him by his Christian name. And again it had to be Hisashi Mitsui, the irreversible bad boy of Shohoku High. 'Kaede, you may think I'm a fool to lay these all out before you. Hell we're not even close...but I figured you're the only who could secure a secret. You're the only one who can listen, Kaede...I need you.'

Rukawa shivered. If there was enough brightness sent by the pitiless moon above, Mitsui could've seen that his companion was blushing to the roots of his hair; his skin would make the scarlet pimpernel ashamed of his garments for that matter. But then, this is when it all gets twisted, for Rukawa.

TBC


End file.
